In Dreams I Walk With You.

My brother contacted me and said he missed my blog – well he said he missed the BS so here we go.

I have to say I don't need to bullshit as life is full of it – last night a dog came on to our bed and lay on me. 

It was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier and when I tried to turn over it moved on to my chest. The only thing I could do was push my legs out and . . . I fell out of bed.

 BANG!!!

Now that was a bit of a shock. I know why the dog came to me in my dreams; two days ago there was a programme on the radio presented by a Radio One Deejay whose name escapes me. He was talking  to an ex copper who had a stroke and was forced in to retirement: 'I love my Staffy' the cop was saying 'he's great company.'

The deejay also had a Staffy and he was fed up taking the dog to a park and seeing mums pick up their kids and running away from it. 

Now the Staffordshire Bull Terrier is a strange looking dog –  but who can resist this:

But it grows in to this:

Look at the look in its eyes ' hey doggy doggy doggy' - I don't think so.

Look at this:

He looks friendly but look at the power in its jaws - those teeth.

Did you ever see The Omen?? One of my favourite films.

I don't think it's a Staffy but some of those photos are a bit scary and why should mothers with their children be subject to anything frightening?
Can you imagine being smaller than a Labrador and seeing the bloody thing come up to you for a fuss – that's what a child sees.
A bit like standing at a bus stop and a dog as big as a horse comes over to you for a fuss; you would run like hell; wouldn't you?

On Tuesday evening, after I heard the programme on the radio, I went around to a supermarket and there, outside, tied up, was a Staffordshire Bull Terrier; he looked nice and friendly and wanted a fuss so I leaned down gently towards him, put my hand out to greet him and he bit me!!

I'm kidding – I never went near him but he did look very friendly.

So 24 hours later I dream about him – not exactly beautiful are they? I mean the puppy is very attractive but if you had one at home, and you had all the doors open in your house, would you let your arm hang down the side of the bed? I mean would you?

I don't do that in any case having had a cat for so many years.

Sometimes I dream about our cat; El Grande – the big 'un. I dream about my parents too and often wonder if that's what happens when people die; they come and see you in your dreams!

A nice thought isn't it but . . . I don't know. What's the alternative? We all go to heaven? All 50 million of us each year, or whatever the number is.

Well maybe heaven is in our dreams, maybe that's where we go.

Nobody dies in Ireland – nobody at all. When you die there they talk about you forever as if you are still around. 

They laugh at the things you have experienced with your late love ones – 'do you remember the time he . . .' and so on. 

That's the way things are there. 

In a way it's a shame Saint Patrick brought Christianity to the place; they believed in much stronger things before that old ballix came along.

They buried their dead on great hills so that they could look down on the living whilst the living could look up to their ancestors and maybe – maybe – dream about them.

So there we are, Paddy me boy; a few words of BS for you; sweet dreams.